Moonlight Wanderings
by morgenstern-jc
Summary: When the Shadowhunters of the New Orleans Institute are faced with a rash of demon attacks, what will happen? Wow I suck at summaries. All OC's, save maybe a few appearances by the Silent Brothers.
1. Chapter 1 - Mors Certa, Hora Incerta

**Chapter 1 – Mors Certa, Hora Incerta**

A world away from the shimmering lights and merry laughter of Bourbon Street, Vivian Wolfhart found herself crouching in a dingy back alley scanning the filthy dark concrete. She could smell the metallic tang of demon ichor in the crisp winter night, and she knew whatever had left the stench must not be far behind. It was a soundless night, and the combination of the black, starless sky and such an unnatural silence was unnerving. Even with a fresh sight rune on her shoulder, she had to squint into the gloom of the alley, searching for a sign of the retreating demon. A glimmering in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she looked over to find the black liquid she had been seeking. Pushing her thick blonde braid behind her shoulder, she examined the sticky puddle. The thick trail of splattered ichor led further down the alley for as far as her eyes could see. Any creature that could have left such an awful amount of ichor must be a monster indeed.

"Sera! Jude!" she called. "Over here!" The sound of running footsteps followed, and in a seconds time her sister and _parabatai_ were at her side. She could sense Jude was wary of the eerie stillness of the night, the uncanny quiet that was a rarity this close to the heart of New Orleans. Standing up, she turned to her two companions. Jude stood with one hand on his hip, a glistening seraph blade clenched in the other. His brown hair was a windswept mess, and in his dark eyes you could see the crazed, eager anticipation for a wild fight.

"You stuck it good there, Sera." He said. "It would have had to be thrashing about like a mad man to leave a trail like this behind."

Sera laughed. "I know where I stabbed it. Even if we don't find it, it should be dead within the hour. Come on." She broke into a brisk jog down the alley, the witchlight in her palm reflecting off the wet brick walls. Vivian and Jude followed close behind, keeping pace with each other, with Vivian watching behind them and Jude checking the sky above. They watched out for the other, the way all _parabatai _did. Jude just barely avoided crashing into Sera when she stopped abruptly at the end of the alley in front of a wide expanse of brick.

"Look down." She observed. "The trail just stops here. There's not a spot on the wall at all, but the trail just stops."

Vivian scrutinized the scene in front of her. A long trail of ichor that lead to a dead end. The creature was obviously badly injured, so it would have been looking to flee, not stand and fight. With no apparent trail ahead, there was but one option left. "It must have doubled back on the same path when it saw it couldn't pass this way." She concluded. "Come on, we're wasting time here."

Sera made no move, her cold eyes easily dismissing the younger girl's theory. "No, little sis, we would have passed it. It was injured, and there's no way a healthy Flauros demon could have covered that much distance that fast."

Nothing set Vivian's blood on fire more than when Sera treated Vivian's contributions to the hunt as a child's foolish ramblings. Though only a year older, Sera behaved as if she was ages wiser, infinitely stronger, and altogether better than both Vivian and Jude. While she loved her sister, sometimes she hated her. "Well then," she retorted. "Do you suppose it just took off into the sky like a great dragon and _flew_ away? Flauros demons can't fly, need I remind you."

Sera scoffed and rolled her eyes. "No, of course not. But I _know where I stabbed it_ and there's not a chance it could have passed us unseen."

Jude, so used to their frequent bickering, acted as the voice of reason. "Wolfharts, may I sugg-"

But Jude was cut off as a great black mass fell from the sky in a flurry of claws and teeth. The Flauros demon landed on top of Jude, knocking him to the ground, slashing at him with its razor sharp nails. He was utterly defenseless, for his seraph blade had been knocked from his hand during the initial attack, and the cat-like demon had his hands pinned underneath him. Vivian quickly recovered from the initial shock of the attack and swiftly sprung into action. Sera was already on top of the demon, delivering a strong kick to the creature's bulky torso. It rolled off Jude, a deep growl rumbling in the back of its throat. Turning to Vivian, it bared its teeth and curled into position. It pounced, but she was ready. She dodged the attack, jumping to the side at the last second. As the demon flew by her, she struck out with her seraph blade and made contact. The demon let out an ear-splitting cry that pierced the silence of the night.

Sera was there again. She was crouching over top the demon as it cowered on the ground, slowly bleeding out in the last moments of its life. Her seraph blade shone in the moonlight, pressed against its throat. "You're a tricky one, aren't you?" she snarled. Sera always took pleasure in the victory over an opponent, taunting her kills as they died beneath her. "But not smart enough." With a swift flick of her wrist, she pushed her blade through the demons neck. It let out a final cry and vanished in a swirl of silvery mist.

Though the battle was won, it was not a victory yet. Jude lay on the ground, covered in blood, long gashes on his arms and shoulder. Vivian knelt down over her _parabatai_, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. His dark eyes were wild, his breath coming in great gasps as the poison coursed through his veins. "Jude," she whispered. "It's alright, you're gonna be fine, we just need to get you back to the Institute." She brushed his damp hair back from his forehead. He was burning up already.

"Liar." He breathed. He could always read her face like a book. She reached inside her jacket for her stele and pressed the cool instrument to his skin. She began to trace iratzes on the inside of his arms and the crook of his neck. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Vivian turned to her sister. "Sera, get over here. We need to get him up." She placed her arms under his, trying to lift his tall frame. Grunting, she got him on his feet. But Sera was watching with wide, shocked eyes. For as good as she was in a fight – the best of their age – she had never been able to handle these situations. Her face was almost as pale as Jude, and she was rooted to the ground.

"Sera, come _on_." Vivian groaned. She swung Jude's arm over her shoulder and let him lean against her. After taking two steps, it was apparent he was much too heavy for her alone to carry. Of all the nights for Louis, another of the Institute's young Shadowhunters, to stay behind. Had he been here now he could have simply lifted Jude like a feather. Jude let out a cry of pain as blood continued to pour from his wounds. Seeing him in agony, something snapped in Sera. In a flash she was at his side, throwing his other arm over her shoulder and supporting the rest of his weight.

Her face was set. "Let's move."

They were not far from the Institute, thankfully, and with both Vivian and Sera's combined efforts, they reached the tall iron gates in just a few minutes. Pushing them open they ascended the white marble steps to the grand doors, being careful not to jostle Jude too much and cause him more pain. He had been silent the entire way back, his eyelids drooping closed. Sera kept slapping his cheek to keep him awake. Once inside the stunning marble entryway, Vivian called out. "Help! Mom! Dad! Louis!"

After a bustle of footsteps as someone came crashing down the hall, Louis appeared, searching madly for his comrade. Upon seeing the blood and ichor covering Jude from head to foot, he exploded. "What the hell, Vivian! What the fuck happened?" He rushed to take Jude from between them, swinging the younger boy's frame into his arms. He wasted no time waiting for a reply, dashing off down the hall, carrying Jude in his arms. Vivian hustled alongside Louis, barely keeping up with his long strides.

"A Flauros demon." She explained. "It attacked from above. Caught us all off guard." They were barreling down the torch lit hall, their footsteps echoing off the smooth marble walls. When at last they had reached the infirmary, Louis carefully laid Jude down on one of the beds. Next to the white sheets, Jude's face was as white as a ghost's.

"Cecilia!" Louis called out. Then he turned back to Vivian, his eyes furious. "How could you have let this happen? You're _parabatai, _you're supposed to look out for him, not let him get mauled like a gazelle. Do you ever think, Viv?"

Vivian was the only one who Louis ever seemed to take his anger out on. How was any of this her fault? They were Shadowhunters, chasing after demons in the middle of the night was kind of their job. "Why are you taking all this out on me, Beauchene?" she spat. "You didn't even come with us tonight, you said it was going to be a quiet night. That the three of us could handle it. What were you even doing here that was so much more important? Brooding down in your dungeon all night?"

"Just shut up and help me. Cecilia!" he called out again. "Where is your mother? We need to get the Silent Brothers to heal at him, the sooner the better."

Jude was unmoving on the bed. Sometime between their arrival and being carried here by Louis he must have finally fallen unconscious. _This is not looking good, not at all_, thought Vivian. Jude looked so small lying there, his soft features and peaceful expression making him look very much like an actual angel. She had known Jude since she was twelve and he thirteen, when she had first come to the New Orleans with her parents. Cecilia and Zachary Wolfhart had been assigned to run the Institute after its previous caretakers, Louis's parents, had been killed in a demon attack. At first she had hated the city, hated America, hated everything about this new and strange place. Of course Sera had simply adored being away from Idris, where the chances of a fight were always high. Her parents had not grown up in Idris, so they felt no loyalty leaving a place that was not their home in the first place. She alone had longed for her home back in Idris, where she had been free of having to hide behind glamours, free of demons, downworlders, and mundanes.

Several weeks after their arrival, she had been feeling particularly homesick one night and was crying in her room. She had heard a soft knocking on her door, and when she had opened it Jude had been standing there with a sheepish look about his face. "Go away," she had said, wiping tears from her eyes. She had tried to shut the door in his face, but he had already strode into her room and was settling himself down on the floor, turning to her with his signature puppy-dog-eyes look. Clearly, he had had no intentions of simply leaving.

"Why are you always so mean to me?" he had asked. Jude had been at the Institute for years before the Wolfharts had arrived and had found its new inhabitants a wondrous occurrence. It had been a relief that the new heads of the Institute had children his own age. Not only would he have another friend besides Louis, but the Beauchenes had been the only family he had ever known. He was still deeply saddened by their deaths and longed for a distraction. "Did I do something to make you hate me?"

Vivian had stared at him. He was the first person who had noticed, or at least acknowledged, her obvious hatred for New Orleans and the Institute. She had sighed, too exhausted for her usual amount of bitterness. "No, it's not you." She sat back down on her bed and crossed her legs. Propping her elbows on her knees, she rested her face in her hands. The tears had rolled down her face freely. It was as if the wall she had put up was finally breaking. Jude moved to sit next to her on the bed.

"If there's one thing I've learned from life here at the Institute," he had said. "It's that you can't go around living half a life, because you never know how much longer you'll have one to live at all."

She pulled her face from behind her hands to meet his gaze. His eyes were a dark brown, the color of burnt wood, and they seemed to see right through her façade. "I know you miss Idris," he had said. "I would too. It was the only home you'd ever known, and now you're stuck here. But it's not so bad, if you give it a shot."

All the while he talked, Vivian had sat there and listened. She was realizing it was entirely up to her whether to be miserable or not. She could choose to accept her new life in New Orleans, or she could choose to live a half-life full of misery, forever longing for the life she had known in Idris. Harboring all this animosity and bitterness was wearing her down like a river erodes a mighty rock. Her choice was clear. Now she spoke, and her voice trembled. "You just lost your only family, and I've lost my home." She reached out and took his hands, soft in hers. "I can be your family, if you'll be my new home."

He had looked up at her, his mouth curving into a wide grin. "I can do that."

For the first time in what felt like ages, she was smiling. They had spent the rest of that night giggling like school children and swapping stories, Vivian recounting the beauty of the Glass City, and Jude telling her tales of run ins with werewolves and warlocks, and of the fabulous Mardi Gras celebrations of New Orleans. From then on, Vivian had had a more than just a friend in the Institute.

Now, seeing Jude lying there dying while she was helpless to stop it was killing her. In the back of her mind she knew that the Brothers would most likely have no problem healing a basic demon poisoning, but the Brothers were not here to reassure her. It all felt too real. She just wanted to break down and cry all over again, like she had that night so long ago. Jude was her anchor, he was her home. He was not allowed to leave her. "Louis, _do something_."

His anger had disappeared – now he was just as desperate as she was. Turning to look Vivian in the eyes, he said, "He's like my little brother. I can't..." He broke off, his voice cracking, his eyes shining with tears. She had never seen him look so emotional. Vivian felt the bizarre urge to reach out to him, to brush his dark hair back from his face and comfort him. _What an odd thing to think_, she thought to herself. _He's such a little shit, but I feel for him_. Normally he was quite cold to Vivian. Like a protective older brother, he was none too fond of Vivian, since she and Jude were so close, and he thought she led the two of them in to trouble. This was actually quite false, as it was usually Sera who would find trouble and end up dragging a reluctant Vivian and eager Jude along with her.

Speaking of Sera, she had finally reappeared, with their mother at her heels. Cecilia Wolfhart's mouth was a thin line, worry written clearly on her youthful face. She rushed over to Jude's side, her dressing gown a swirl of cloth behind her. Feeling his forehead, she clasped his hand in hers. "I've already called the Brothers. They are on their way. Oh, Judah."

Vivian could not take looking at her _parabatai_ in this wretched state any longer. Every image of his pale, sick face felt like a dagger in her chest. She turned on her heel and fled the room.


	2. Chapter 2 - Dum Vivimus, Vivamus

**Chapter 2 -Dum Vivimus, Vivamus**

After wandering the cold halls of the Institute for a while, Vivian found herself in the weapons room. She was carefully polishing her set of scimitars, the moonlight shining through the window glistening off the curved blade. Vivian was good at finding ways to distract herself from her emotions. Right now she wanted nothing more than something to take her mind off of Jude. Off of his cold hands, fragile in hers as she had clasped them. Off of the sight of the bloody gashes along his arms, like rips in the fabric of her heart. Off of the vision of his body burning in the customary funeral pyre, and of having to say goodbye to her _parabatai._ _If aught but death part thee and me_, she thought, the words of the sacred oath echoing in her mind. His death was a possibility she could not allow herself to believe. So instead she hovered over the carefully crafted iron and set to work sharpening the runed swords.

Her dual wield scimitars were her favorite weapons. The lightweight swords made for swift movements, and the ability to brandish a weapon in each hand helped to extend her kill radius. After all, two swords were better than one. Fight smarter, not harder - that was her motto. Where Sera was all brute strength and sheer ferocity, Vivian specialized in outsmarting her opponent. She was an expert at predicting an enemy's move by their stance, calculating which hits would do the most damage where, and turning their own advantages against them. While she may not have the same physical prowess as her colleges, she certainly could hold her own against them in combat.

Vivian finished off her sharpening and polishing and walked over to the training mirrors, the hilts of the swords cool beneath her fingers. She took a moment to take in her reflection, startled by her ragged appearance. Her normally sleek pale blonde hair was falling out of its braid. Dark circles ringed her green eyes. There was blood and spots of ichor smeared across her white face, creating a gruesome contrast. She looked like death incarnate.

She swung her right arm around, the scimitars acting like extensions of her arms. Her careful motions were acted out with precision, each blade taking over where the other left off. When one would draw back, the other would complete the action in a swift arc of her wrist. She concentrated hard on packing power in to each swing, holding nothing back. Channeling her all of her anger, frustration, and worry for Jude into her movements, the blades were but glimmering flashes of iron. As the sweat poured down her face, she imagined striking out at the Flauros demon as it fell from the sky. In her head, she took it out with two clean blows of her scimitars before it even came within a foot of her _parabatai_. Lost in her training, she failed to notice the soft snickering coming from the corner of the room.

"Your moves are good, but there's an obvious lack of power."

Vivian nearly jumped out of her skin. Louis was standing in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, smirking. _What an ass_, she thought. Aloud, she said, "As if you could do any better."

"I didn't say I could." he scoffed. Much like Vivian, his fear for Jude was openly manifested in his face. His eyes were red, his hair a rumpled mess from running his hands through it in frustration. The set of his jaw was especially hard. He crossed the room towards her and hopped up to sit on the end of the work desk. Looking down at her, her attitude softened a little. She swallowed back an insult. He looked so sad – it was hard to kick a dog when it was down.

"You didn't have to be such a dick to me earlier."

"It's hard not to be pissed at you when you come back and Jude is hurt, _again_."

She scoffed. "For your information, it was no more my fault than that time the four of us were chasing that Shax demon down St. Charles Avenue and Sera decided it was a good idea for Jude to lure the demon out of its hiding spot with the temptation of a one-on-one fight. I don't remember you being the oh-so-mighty voice of reason that night."

"That was different," he snapped. "I was right there. And that was only a broken arm, not a deadly demon poisoning."

Vivian rolled her eyes. "Oh yes, only the searing pain of having your bone cleaved in two. Next time there's a choice between saving you or my freshly manicured nails, I'll remember it's _only_ a broken _arm_."

The corner of his mouth curved up in a smirk. "Keep dreaming, Wolfhart. We all know who does the saving around here."

"Well, it certainly wasn't you tonight." Her voice was full of venom. "I hope your dungeon will be a comfort to you if Jude dies, as you couldn't be so bothered to leave it."

"Jude isn't going to die," he spoke softly. "That's what I came here to tell you, since you left so abruptly. Figured you'd like to know. The Brothers got here in time. Brother Enoch was finishing when I left, he said that the wounds looked worse than they were. Most of the cuts were shallow, there were just so many of them. He'll be asleep for a while as the healing runes do their job. But then he'll be good as new."

"Good as new," she whispered. There it was, the affirmation to quiet her restless mind. She stopped imagined his cold body lying on the infirmary bed as the life drained out of him. For now she could push the nightmare of having to say goodbye to her best friend as his body burned and his ashes were taken to the Bone City. For now. There would always be a lingering fear of losing Jude, of losing her parents and Sera and, by the Angel, even Louis. That was life as a Shadowhunter. _We are but dust and shadows._

"But back to business." Louis stood up and studied the array of arms hanging from the wall. Picking up a heavy broadsword, he crossed the room to stand in front of her. He gripped the hilt of the sword in both hands, the thick muscles of his arms rippling as he raised the blade above his head. "While the puny scimitars may be your weapon of choice, I prefer one fit for a man."

"I don't see any men here," Vivian quipped. "Just a boy with a big toy. Overcompensate much?"

His answer was to twirl the hefty sword in a flurry of ridiculous swings. While the strokes might look pretty, Vivian knew any opponent could have had him pinned and begging for his worthless life within seconds. She made her move. With less than four slashes of her scimitars she had him pinned against the wall, one blade across his throat, the other over his bicep. Her face was close to his, and she could feel his breath on her cheek. "Your moves are good, but there's an obvious lack of intellect."

Rage at his defeat flashed across his hazel eyes. "Very funny, Wolfhart. Now if you could remove the sharp and deadly blade from my throat, please."

She smiled. "Make me."

Something shone in his eyes then. It was his turn to chuckle. "Oh I am so glad you said that." With a swift upward kick Vivian was knocked backwards. Before she could recover, Louis seized his opportunity to catch her off balance. He put all of his weight into one strong push against her chest with the flat of his broadsword. She was whacked flat on her back, the breath knocked out of her. Gasping, she looked up to see Louis wearing a devilish grin.

"When will you learn, little Wolfhart, that for as much as you pride yourself on your brains, I am still better." He strutted over to where she lay. In a flash of metal, he whirled the sword down and stuck it in the ground inches from her face.

"Bastard" she spat out. She rolled on to her side and sat up, slowly catching her breath.

"Only on days that end in y, sweetheart." He offered her his hand to help her up. She would have sooner kissed him. Ignoring it, she got to her feet and stalked out, making sure to give him a good thump on the shoulder as she passed. She heard him laugh.

* * *

Back in the infirmary, Sera was watching over Jude as he slept. He was so still, the only sign he was actually alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She clenched his hand. Though Sera was used to seeing the ones she cared about injured, it never got any easier. Brother Enoch insisted that Jude would be just fine, but she would have to see it with her own eyes before she could put her mind to rest.

"Seraphina, dear, you should get some rest." Her mother had reappeared in the doorway after seeing Brother Enoch off. "Judah will be just fine. Ironvines have come back from far worse – they a have strong blood. Tiring yourself out is not going to help him any, I'll stay here with him in case he wakes."

She walked over to Sera and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Cecilia Wolfhart had never been much of a fighter. In her youth, she had preferred the comfort of her school books and studies over the perils of battle. She had told Sera before that had it not been for her father, she would have become an Iron Sister. Her mother was warm, gentle, and delicate – great qualities in a mother, not in a Shadowhunter. But right now, Sera needed that tenderness to calm her worried mind.

"No," she said. "I want to stay. It was my fault he got hurt in the first place. If I had just killed the demon when I first tracked it down and then it wouldn't have gotten away and..." She trailed off. It was the truth. She could have gotten a better shot on it the first time if she had waited just a moment longer for the demon to get a little closer to her. But she had acted impulsively and swung at the first pitch instead of waiting, and it had cost her. That was always her mistake. While she let her natural instincts drive her fighting, and she was one of the best there was, whenever she slipped up, they were to blame.

"Don't be silly, dear," her mother said. She knelt down next to her daughter. Clasping Sera's hands, she met her eyes. "We can never know when these things happen. You know I once sought a life a little different than this. I sought to escape the circle of death that surrounds being a Shadowhunter. When my father died when I was just a girl, I thought that there must have been something I could have done, that anyone could have done to change his path and bring him back to me. But death comes for us all in the end, Seraphina. We don't know when it's coming, or how. All we can do is live, and be ready for it when it does come. Be it to us, or the ones we love. For now, just be happy that Judah will live to see another day. Learn from the mistakes made tonight, but do not blame yourself, darling."

Sera tried to hold back her tears – crying was a weakness she did not allow herself. She gave her mother a weak smile. "Mom..."

All she said was, "I know, dear." She stood up and straightened her dressing gown. "But there are other important issues that must be addressed here as well. Flauros demons are a rarity in these parts anymore. They rarely leave southeast Asia, for one to be in North America is unheard of. What could have possibly brought it all the way to New Orleans? There's always a chance it got lost, or came out of its' portal a hair too early, but these are equally unlikely."

"Really?" Sera said. She had never paid much attention in any lesson that was not about combat. Sure, she knew enough about demons to know what she was fighting and which hits would do the most damage, but she did not care to know what their favorite bedtime snacks were. "No wonder it was all alone. It certainly didn't seem smart enough to survive by itself for too long. And it didn't, thank you very much."

Her mother gave her a look that she reserved especially for her, one that Sera liked to refer to as her _Bitch-please_ face. "Oh, I'm sure of it." Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Regardless, I shall absolutely be looking in to what on earth a Flauros demon was doing so very far from Asia. Now, off to bed, Seraphina. And wash up, that gorgeous pale skin of yours is covered in dirt and blood."

Sera hadn't realized how exhausted she was. The fight with the demon, carrying Jude, and the resulting emotional trauma had finally caught up with her. It took all of her remaining strength to stand up, and when she did it was all she could do not to let her legs give out beneath her. Looking at Jude, she relaxed more. The color was returning to his cheeks, and she could see that his breathing was much steadier. He would be just fine.

"Let me know the second he wakes, okay?" she demanded.

Her mother gave her a warm smile. "Of course. Get some rest, depriving yourself won't speed up his recovery. Go." With a push of her shoulders, she shunted Sera out of the infirmary. Once back in her room, Sera collapsed immediately on to her bed and fell in to a peaceful, dreamless sleep.


End file.
